The Music of the Night
by TheatreGirl81
Summary: How Erik became deformed and subsequently became... a vampire? Hey, it could happen.


It was rare when the rumors flying around the opera house were proven true, but sometimes the inevitable happened. Monsieur Lefevre was going to retire and was on the hunt for a new manager to hand the Opera Populaire over to.

How he was going about this, however, was very strange.

He was holding a contest to find a person with the drive and creativity to take the theatre to the next level. He was holding a contest to find someone with passion for music that matched his, and many men clamored to show him their compositions.

Anyone who wished to enter could, as long as they were capable of reading and composing a score with music and lyrics. Several people collaborated on the projects, thinking that two minds were better than one.

In the end, Lefevre settled on two contenders who were both renowned violinists in the orchestra: Gustave Daaé and Erik Renoir. The men were on friendly terms with each other although Renoir was much younger.

Erik was a prodigy at age fifteen. No one knew why, but his knowledge of architecture and history was overshadowed only by his ability to write and play music. And all of this knowledge had been gained under the roof of the theatre. He was an orphan who lived in the Opera House since he had been abandoned by his mother at a very young age.

The ballet mistress, Madam Giry, had taken care of him and he had grown up with her daughter Meg and Christine Daaé.

Christine was Gustave's ten-year-old daughter. She was a blonde haired blue eyed girl who had an exceptional talent for music. She and her father lived with an elderly couple, named Valerius, who were their patrons. Gustave worked night and day perfecting his self-taught skills to earn money to pay for his daughter to be trained in the chorus of the Opera House.

"One of you will replace me as head of this opera company," Lefevre said. He paced his office with his arms clasped behind his back. "There is no one else in Paris who has shown the passion and dedication that you have. And it is not simply the scores that sit on my desk. I've watched everyone for a long time."

"So… How long have you been seeking a replacement?" Daaé asked.

Lefevre turned to face him. "Actively for several months. But I've always known this day would come. Mortal men do not live forever and I must move on in my endeavors."

"Sir," Erik spoke up. "I'm flattered that you see my as worthy, but I am still young and… Would the company accept me?"

"I've never met anyone like you," Lefevre replied. "And we need a smart, young mind to bring the opera into the future. And your love and knowledge of music is unsurpassed."

"If I may be so bold…" Gustave began. "It is your choice, of course, but you said we both impressed you?"

"Indeed."

"May I propose joint management?" Gustave patted Erik on the shoulder. "This boy has genius to spare and he could take complete collective control and leave the running of the business to someone else?"

"To you?"

"To whomever you saw fit."

"But it is my choice," Lefevre told him. "And I have decided to choose my successor by my own means. Tell me Erik, how much do you love music?"

"More than anything, sir," he replied. "I love being here and being able to hone my craft. I… think music saved me from descending into darkness."

"And you, Daaé? Would you dedicate yourself fully to this theatre? If I put you in a place of authority?"

"Of course," the man answered. "Music is everything to me; it's my life's work. I want nothing more than for my daughter to grow up surrounded by…"

"Your daughter?" Lefevre interrupted. "You love that little girl, don't you?"

Gustave was taken back. "Of course I do. She is my Angel of Music."

"She is a sweet little song bird," Lefevre agreed. "But she would distract you from living the music." He crossed to his desk.

"Sir…" Erik stuttered. "I would think that she would help. Having someone with exceptional talent would add to score. She would give voice to the notes and take a beautiful song on paper and transform it into a masterpiece."

"Still, it is my choice," the manager said. He lifted Gustave's music and took it over to the brazier being used to heat the room. "And if music is not life then there is nothing. And this is worthless." He lit the music on fire.

"No!" Gustave yelled. He lunged forward but Lefevre grabbed him and held him back.

"Are you mad?" Erik rushed forward, determined to save the sheet music. Lefevre tripped the boy and Erik fell into the pot of hot coals. He howled in pain as the iron pot fell on top of him and caught his clothing. Gustave pulled off his coat and threw it over Erik, trying to stop the flames from spreading.

"Lefevre, get help!" Gustave yelled. "Lefevre!" Still cradling the howling boy, Gustave wrenched around to survey the room.

Lefevre was gone.

Erik was in severe pain. The coals from the brazier had burned through his clothing and scarred his face. The flames singed off most of his hair and the better part of his upper body had also been scarred.

He was being taken care of by a doctor and Gustave hadn't left his side. Unfortunately there wasn't much anyone could do to help the teenager. He would be in pain for the remainder of his life and Lefevre was responsible.

The manager of the Paris Opera House had disappeared, leaving a scandal in his wake.

In the dead of night, Erik slept. Gustave was resting in the doctor's office and the physician had promised to return at 9 am.

Lefevre easily manipulated the lock and slipped into the building. He could feel Erik, sense his pain and anguish. He had never meant to harm the boy and the fact that Erik would be disfigured hung heavy on his conscious. But he couldn't have stayed in his own office; couldn't have risked the flames taking him.

The man's eyes glowed in the soft candle light and he sat on the edge of the boy's bed. "Erik? Erik, wake up."

His eyes fluttered and he sucked in a harsh breath, causing the pain in his chest to flare up. "You… Why are you here?"

"To help my boy," Lefevre replied.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I never wanted you to be hurt," the older man said. "I'm so very sorry, Erik. But now I've come to fix that."

"You're mad." He sucked in a tight breath. "I'm going to call Gustave."

"I can take your pain away," Lefevre told him. "I can stop the hurting, but I don't think I can make the scars go away. You have the gift and you will become my child my prodigy. You, like your music, will be immortal. That's what you want, right?"

"Yes… No… You're not making any sense."

"It will all make sense, I promise."

In an instant Lefevre was on the boy, sinking his elongated canines into Erik's throat. A strangled noise escaped between his clenched teeth and Erik tried in vain to dislodge the creature that was sucking his life away.

When he could move Erik began to yell for Gustave. But he was quickly cut off be Lefevre forcing a think liquid into his mouth. It tasted like copper and smelt like blood, and Erik tried to cough it up. But Lefevre had an inhuman strength.

"What are you doing?"

"Daaé go away," the creature growled. "This is not your business."

Erik was released and he struggled to sit up. His chest burned and a fire worse than the first was rushing through his system. As he watched, Gustave lunged at Lefevre and the two fought for the upper hand. Daaé was losing to Lefevre and Erik struggled to get up; to help his friend.

But another spasm of pain sent the boy crashing to the floor. He reached out for something to cling to and grabbed the leg of the bedside table. It broke off in his hands. He fought the need to slip into unconsciousness and pulled himself up.

Gustave was moaning in pain and bleeding from the nose and mouth. Lefevre was holding him off the ground, squeezing the other man's throat.

"Let him go," Erik growled.

"I don't take orders from you," the creature that was Lefevre growled. "You are mine own fledgling now and will do as I say."

"Let him go." Erik took a menacing step forward.

Lefevre tossed Gustave into a wall and turned to face Erik. The boy was on his feet and holding the splintered table leg. In one quick motion he thrust the stake forward and into the chest of Lefevre. He gasped out and fell to his knees, eyes wild.

Erik ran to help Gustave, but the older man was not faring well. His breathing was shallow and there was blood on the back of his head.

"Just hold on," Erik told him. "I'll get help."

"You're… you are in pain as well," Gustave wheezed, clutching the boy's arm.

Erik shook his head. "I hardly notice it. Let me help you."

"It's too late for me," Gustave replied. "But Christine… You must watch over her now."

"My face will frighten her," Erik pleaded.

"Promise me… You must watch over my Angel."

"I will, sir. I vow it."

The Phantom awoke in a cold sweat. He pushed the lid of the coffin open and took in a deep breath of stagnant air. The dead and damned still dreamed. He was haunted by these visions night after night.

Ten years had passed since that tragic evening but the repercussions… What had been done to him could not be undone. He was a vampire, a creature who was dead but remained bound to the earth by a curse that forced him to live off the blood of animals. The blood of a human was enticing, but he steeled himself to never drink from their veins. That was probably the reason why he remained so thin, but it didn't bother him so much as the scarring from the burns.

Because of those scars he had retreated from public view and lived a solitary life. And thanks to Madam Giry, his home was under the Opera House, deep within the catacombs, beyond an underground lake. He had secret access to the building and could influence the current mangers and run things as he saw fit.

He had made a promise to a friend that he would watch over Christine. She, like him, was now an orphan with only the theatre company as her family. He had stayed close by, but remained out of site. And truthfully, it was Christine who kept him anchored to this unnatural life. Without her he would have walked into the sun and ended his retched existence years ago.

He shook off those morbid thoughts and went to the washroom. After he splashed some water on his face, he went into the kitchen to procure a vial of cats' blood from the ice chest. And while he drank, he again thought back to the events that were forever etched in his mind.

On that night, long ago, he had spun a tale of heroism. He had told the authorities that Lefevre had come to attack him and Gustave had save his life. Once the mad man had realized Gustave was dying he fled the scene.

The truth had been that Erik buried him before dawn.

Three men had died that evening: Lefevre, Gustave, and a boy known as Erik Renoir. And from the ashes rose a ghost, or, as he had come to be known, a Phantom.

The Phantom put on fresh clothing and fitted himself with a black wig. It was much better than his scorched skull that wouldn't allow his own hair to grow back. Twenty-five years old and he looked like an old man.

Immortality he had, but not beauty.

Turning away from the mirror and his ruin face, he lifted his mask from the vanity. He had an appointment to keep. Christine Daaé would be waiting for her music lesson to start and the Angel of Music was never late.


End file.
